


Lucius Malfoy's Story

by Bevan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of the 7 Years' War, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:27:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9668588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bevan/pseuds/Bevan
Summary: After the war, the Ministry stages the great show trial of Lucius Malfoy, the last remaining high-ranking Death Eater, to bring closure to both sides and heal the remaining rifts in wizarding society. And lovely peacock that he is, Lucius is ever good for a show.





	1. Chapter 1

“Mr. Malfoy, you’ve indicated that you had no choice about taking the Mark and becoming one of the Dark Lord’s henchmen. So, whom would you blame for your unfortunate descent into darkest crime?”

Lucius felt a marginal urge to roll his eyes at the prosecutor’s choice of words. “When I was younger, I blamed it all on my father. I cursed his name for handing away our family honor, our name, all our possessions, and incidentally me, to that madman. But as the years have passed, I’ve come to believe that he was probably as trapped as I was. The stage had been set and the choices made long before either of us was born.”

“My grandmother had been a great follower of the Dark Lord during his early rise to power. I’m told that in those years, he could be very charming, and had a way with women that won him many dowager donors and supporters from the old families. While the men for the most part ran business and politics, it was the women who truly ran society and the men. It was their choices that decided who would lead in politics and in business too.”

“The Dark Lord had not yet begun his descent into madness. He was power-hungry and ruthless, but that hardly differentiated him from many other politicians. I’ve read some of the speeches he gave back in those days.” Lucius paused. “It was kind of required reading for my set as we were growing up. Anyway, many of his speeches were very powerful, and accurate, and spoke to the needs of the time. Since the time that I made his acquaintance personally, I don’t believe I ever heard him give a single real speech. In recent years, he gave orders and passed judgments. He’d launch into crazy rants on the topics of loyalty, the worthlessness of the immagical, and prophecy.” 

“That’s how we knew he was mad. He built his life for decades around some cryptic prophecies uttered by an alcohol-sodden fraud. In the old days when he was giving those speeches I read, I think he would have laughed at prophecy. But chipping off his soul into various slivers, being twice diminished to a wraith, and twice resuming bodily form through twisted ritual and darkest magic couldn’t help but eat away at his mind as well as his soul.” 

“In the end there, he wasn’t quite human, was he? I’m not sure what he was really. There were too many different parts to him by then, many of them natural enemies. Unicorn blood, snake venom, stolen bones and blood, who knows what else?” Lucius shuddered.

“But a century or so ago, my grandmother, a Malfoy solely by marriage mind you, thought he was a rising star, and that he would restore the fortunes of the old families and the place in the world of the wizards. What he said he would do must have made sense at the time. Society was shaking apart because of the fast pace of all the changes. The muggles had entered a period of political and social upheaval, industrial development, and exploration and conquest that was unbalancing every level of society in every corner of the globe.” 

“Our leaders here in the Ministry, predictably, reacted to the traumas that were splitting our world apart by hiding their heads in the sand. Beginning centuries ago, our august and benighted leaders had decreed a complete break with the world of the muggles and secrecy for our whole society.” Lucius sighed. “Hiding is never the answer. Believe me, I know.”

The wizards and witches watching the trial laughed in response. The audience was on his side, whatever the Wizangamot thought.

“Well, let me say here that this split between the magical and immagical parts of our society did not sit well with the Malfoys. We had traditionally interacted equally with both worlds. We lived in both, conducted business in both, and married and bred in both. Earlier it was mentioned that my heritage was more than half Veela. Well, in days past, our Malfoy family tree was also filled with muggles, a few merfolk, a centaur or two, and at least one vampire.”

A collective gasp rose from the audience watching the testimony.

“We didn’t give a hang about wizards’ blood purity. We chose our mates based on intelligence, skill (magical or otherwise), social standing, and beauty. And observation had long-since shown us that blood purity leads to inbred weaknesses and madness. Just look at the Black family: Sirius and Bella, both mad as hatters. And reckless to boot. We Malfoys would gladly choose a half-blood, a Veela, or even a spirited centaur filly if it seemed good for the family.”

Titters rose from the courtroom gallery as they pictured Lucius galloping after a pretty filly.

“The Dark Lord at first only suggested bringing back a little of the social order that had evaporated into riots and revolution. He suggested that the long heritage of philanthropy, learning, and order of the old families be used to bring coherence and structure back to society again. That relations with the immagical world be restored to prior boundaries. And that old magic and custom not be tossed aside like so many unmatched socks. That all made sense.” 

“Part of the problem with wizarding society at the time was the growing behemoth of the Ministry and its seeming desire to blend our world into the muggle world – it was an insult to wizarding culture. After declaring relations with the immagical world a crime, the Ministry continued to expand its authority by fiat. All sorts of magic and artifacts that it felt were suspect or difficult to regulate were suddenly classified as “dark.” So, that people found that the casual magic they had always used to run their shops or their households, to heal wounds, or to repair their furniture was suddenly illegal. Casting wandless and wordless, which had previously been ranked a proud achievement, was now considered a testament to one’s alliance with the Dark.”

Various elements in the Wizangamot and Ministerial bureaucrats in the courtroom began to frown and shift uncomfortably as Lucius’ testimony hit too close to home. The head of the Wizangamot gazed benignly over the courtroom while more than one wizard on the panel gazed pointedly at the prosecutor, willing him to halt the speech pouring forth. 

The prosecutor ignored them. Malfoy’s statements had not violated any rules of procedure, and before ever the trial began, he had discussed the purpose of the prosecution with the Minister himself, who was formerly the head of magical law enforcement and more familiar with the evidence against Malfoy than anyone. And the prosecutor understood that this trial of the last remaining high-ranking Death Eater was to be a show trial to paint the background of the war, its causes, and aftermath from both sides. It was to provide closure, and unless there was a miscarriage of justice, this defendant would be released after being assessed a substantial fine for reparations. The evidence against him showed clearly that he had been a Death Eater of the inner circle who had participated in some raids and activities, notably the attempt to steal the remainder of the central prophecy from the halls of the Ministry. But the evidence also showed, just as clearly, that this defendant had done no real harm. All his activities had ended in failure. And as he was known to be a good friend, sometime lover, and sponsor of the war hero Snape, one couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t deliberately sabotaged the Dark Lord’s efforts.

Lucius continued with his testimony against the old Ministry directives: “The old families, many of whom still relied on agricultural production for much of their wealth, found it suddenly illegal to sell to the immagical or to have their land worked by immagical tenants as had been done from time immemorial. The wizarding world was small; it couldn’t possibly buy the produce of all the land. Many magical, Talented people began to leave the magical world for the immagical one, having no prospects for employment or gain in their own world.” 

“The Ministry tried to create jobs, which only added to the problem by expanding the authority of the Ministry further. Until the current day, when much of our wealth goes to taxes, and the taxes pay the vast majority of the labor force, which works for the Ministry. In effect, we all work for ourselves and our own taxes pay our salaries.” 

“My grandfather, who was mostly Veela like myself, wasn’t much interested in politics. He thought my grandmother’s fancies harmless enough at the time, and let her play politics with the growing number of the Dark Lord’s supporters. Like most Veela, he wasn’t very martial, nor cut out for mob fervor. He would rather read his books, do his research, and spend the day in ornate and esoteric conversations with his colleagues. Like many at the time, he never realized the true magnitude of his mistake in letting the Dark Lord go unchecked.”

“In any case, the Veela always viewed the Dark Wars as an internal matter of the wizarding world. Overall, Veela aren’t very sympathetic to humans, magical or immagical, due to our rapacious natures. After all, what other species has single-handedly changed vast swaths of the earth into deserts and wiped out so many other species in its ever-expanding subjugation of the globe?”

“I was brought up by my father to live as a wizard and not as a Veela. But I never managed to achieve the rapacious nature prized by the Dark Lord. It’s just not in me. And that was one of my greatest problems under his rule, and why my family and I came near to extinction at his hand on more than one occasion. The Veela side of me always sought peace and balance. And it just couldn’t be done at the center of the Dark Lord’s circle.”

“The Veela are a social and loquacious people. The human world is more dynamic and filled with change and innovation than theirs. Their curiosity draws them to us. And so, numbers of them have always filtered out into our world to live among us. They take our forms. Even those in the enclaves mainly choose to live in this form, as it’s more suited to the present nature of the world. But have any of you ever seen the true form of a Veela?”

There were a few nods out in the sea of heads, perhaps from those who had seen the fiasco at the World Cup a few years back.

“They are large, rather fierce-looking avians in various shades of blue with vicious beaks and talons. Were they nearly as rapacious as we are, we would all long since have been lunch. But they would rather preen than punish. Their language is music and their communication is song. They would rather fly above the mess of the world than wallow in its muddy cesspits of squalor and politics. It’s no wonder that so many of the pure Veela, when they venture out into our world, die of sadness and heartbreak, or return to the enclaves like my mother.”

An exasperated defense counselor brought his hand down on the bar of the witness box, hard. “Mr. Malfoy, could I please ask you to focus. Answer the question asked only. We do not need a complete backgrounder on the rise of the Dark Lord and on Veela cultural mores.”

“Well, isn’t that the point of Veritaserum? To bring out the truth and the detail? You’ve fed me enough of the stuff over the years. I’m probably having an allergic reaction,” Lucius opined.

The Judge looked towards the middle bench, at the MediMage who monitored the condition of prisoners under the serum. “Check his condition. Could he be having a reaction?”

The Mage drew her diagnostic wand and scanned Lucius. “While chattiness is one of the typical effects of a reaction in full-blooded humans, Mr. Malfoy’s physical signs are all normal, for him. I suspect the excess verbiage is more a product of his Veela heritage. They love to tell stories and spin long epic tales. In his case, it would probably help to lower the dosage to about two-thirds normal.”

“Very well. Note that for tomorrow. Counselor, do you want your client to continue?”

The man conferred briefly with his client, then gave his assent. “Yes, let’s carry on.”


	2. Chapter 2

Courtroom personnel took their seats even as the watchers in the gallery shuffled to their places, anxious to get a good view of the day’s proceedings.

Veratiserum and oaths were administered. All the necessary pomp of Court was set in motion, and the prosecutor began with a slight admonition intended to derail the digressions of the previous day: “Mr. Malfoy, if you would kindly remain on point as we continue. We were asking you about the background that led you to join ranks with the Death Eaters.”

“Ah, yes, as if I simply volunteered…. Well, I should have known it inevitable. But I spend my childhood and Hogwarts years in a state of blissful denial, enjoying Quidditch, friends and study companions from all the houses, high marks and steady learning, exploring possibilities. I spent summers with my mother’s family at the Enclave and with my father’s sisters and their families in France. My own sisters and their families live there still.”

“My mother understood what was to become of me even if I did not. Under my father’s oppressive hand, she had gradually declined. The Veela are an esoteric people of delicate sensibilities. She begged my father to send me to safety in the Veela lands or elsewhere, that I should not have to take the Dark Lord’s brand on my arm. But my father would not be dissuaded. And one morning my mother, whom I had loved extravagantly even as I loathed my father, simply did not wake up. My grief knew no bounds. I took all the jewels and books that had been hers and took them to Severus at Hogwarts. A gift. The fortune they represented could help keep him through school and as he began his career, even if I could not. And my father would not have them. It was not right that he should. He had caused my mother’s death.”

“It was not for many years that I learned that Severus had, even through his poverty, pain, and despair, kept the collection of jewels and books almost intact out of his love for my family. He had sold only one ring: it held a large, magically faceted Veela opal but in an ancient and cracked setting. The ugliest of the pieces I had given him, the stone itself held enough value to keep him through school and beyond, with even a respectable reserve of gold besides. That boy was always such an enigma. Living in patched and tattered second-hands when he had a vast fortune hidden in a magical space in the school wall. I ask you: is that practical?”

“Tell us more about your Veela family.”

Lucius paused to consider what there might be to tell in this context. He tilted his head to the side, considering, then began: “The Veela dreamers said that this was the fourth incarnation of the world. And that things were turning out badly. Not that differently from the third incarnation. Which had turned out very badly indeed according to the dreamers. And so, we should take heed and try to change course before it was too late.”

He let out an exasperated puff of breath. “At least that's what they were saying to all who would listen. Which didn't include many more than the dreamers and their divines who interpreted their visions to the rest of their people.”

“I should explain here some of the nature of the dreamers and their divines to those of you who are not Veela. Which I suppose is almost all of you. Now I should probably mention again that I am myself more than half Veela. But I was raised in the human world with my strongest influence being my mostly human parent. And while I love the dream fables and stories, I have never been able to take the dreamers' nonsense very seriously.”

“The dreamers and divines never noticed me either. But when I was still in school, I acquired a young ward, an impoverished, but spectacularly gifted, member of my house. And in the Malfoy tradition, I took him under my wing to develop him as a loyal client. During the summer holidays, I would take him with us when my mother and I visited the Veela enclave that was her homeland. My young ward, who appeared to have no Veela ancestry in at least four generations, understood the dreamers and their pronouncements completely. In fact, independent dreamers would flock to the connection barrier to try and touch his mind and speak to him. It's unheard of for them to speak to a non-divine, let alone a non-Veela. And I, more than half Veela, they never noticed. You all know my ward as the war hero Severus Snape.”

“Severus was always unusual. Different. Everyone noticed it. Mostly in a negative way. Lesser mortals were constantly tormenting him. I could mention a few names here, but I suspect many of you have already heard of them. Sometimes Severus noticed their torments most acutely. Sometimes his mind was on other things. It's interesting to me that the best and most noteworthy in their various species and fields inevitably noticed Severus in a positive way. Of course, these discerning individuals were always vastly outnumbered by the unremarkable. Who invariably tormented him for his "other than" qualities.” 

“For example, one time at Hogwarts when it was evening, I had had a fine dinner and was relaxing before turning in for a good night’s sleep before tomorrow’s exam. I turned the page of the text on Advanced Transfiguration Techniques I was reviewing. I could hear my dorm mates turning pages and scratching notes down as they also got in some last- minute studying.” 

“Then I heard our door open and shut quietly; a pale hand drew aside the curtain of my bed. It was Severus, looking beaten down and crestfallen as usual. His eyes were red and puffy.”

“’What happened, little brother?’ I asked him. I pulled the cover aside so he could crawl in beside me. In a small voice, he began to recount yet another tale of a cruel prank played on him by the little pests who called themselves “Marauders,” which they were. I sighed and stroked his hair.” 

“’Did you fight back?’ He shook his head. ‘Did you report them to a prefect or a teacher?’ Again, he shook his head.”

“’I don’t trust them,’ he said.” 

“I was exasperated. ‘I don’t know how you expect this to stop if you never do anything about it or stand up for yourself. You’re more talented at magic than they are; you could fight them back.’”

“’But….’ His breath caught and his aborted explanation came to a halt.”

“’Do you want me to report them tomorrow?’ I asked. ‘I can assure you they will get at least a long detention out of it.’” 

“He shook his head again. ‘That will only make it worse, leave it be,’ he said. And he turned his face into my shoulder, twined his small hands in my hair, and began to cry silently as he always did. I’ve never known anyone, not even a girl, who could cry so much. Part of me wanted to slap some sense into him and make him fight back, but that just wasn’t his nature. And if I had, it would have only made things worse. So, I let him cry it out. And I continued to review for tomorrow’s exam. He would exhaust himself and fall asleep eventually. Like all of his year, he took meaningless taunts deep into his heart. This had become such a routine with us.”

“I felt a certain amount of exasperation with myself as well. By all the gods, what was I doing with this wild-haired, underfed little boy crying on my shoulder? I held him as he wept, concealed by the bed curtains as he lay with me in my dorm room. The other first years tormented him so, because he was different. Yet his difference was his value, which I recognized even if those dimwits did not. In the end, he would be worth more than the lot of those preening, pranking fools combined. Now, everyone has finally seen that this is so. But if I said so then, I would be laughed into disgrace.”

“My dorm mates found it quite amusing. That this poor child would run to me to cry, and that I would let him, while I could have been doing something else. Anything else. The beautiful Lucius Malfoy, who could have had anyone (and probably everyone) in the school in my bed. Yet I allowed a skinny, tearful, first year pride of place. They joked that I had adopted a child. Ironically, before the year was out, I would have done.”

“Behind the rich brocade of my bed curtains, I was more the fool for the weakness I felt for this poor lad. Gently stroking his hair, planting the occasional light kiss upon the top of his head, I cherished him as he gradually exhausted his tears and fell into a restless sleep cradled in my arms. I was content with this, and did not want any more ardent companion in my bed. Perhaps I simply needed someone who needed me. Or perhaps he represented the little brother I had always wanted, but never had. I still do not know to this day what moved me so. But I would not change it even now.”

The prosecutor cleared his throat. “Mr. Malfoy, I believe we were discussing what led you into Voldemort’s inner circle. Please get back on track.” He looked over at the MediMage. “Did you adjust for the proper Veratiserum dosage, as we discussed yesterday?”

The Mage nodded. “Again, loquacity is one of the expected side effects of the potion in one of Mr. Malfoy’s heritage.” 

“Fine.” The prosecutor sighed heavily. “But Mr. Malfoy, I would ask you to get back to the discussion of your Veela background.”

The courtroom gallery heaved a collective sigh of disappointment. They, and no less a personage than Harry Potter among them, had been captivated by this glimpse into the early years of one of the great war heroes. Intended or not, Lucius Malfoy’s candid testimony was earning him the sympathies of everyone present.

Lucius took a moment to recall what he had been saying about the Veela. The last Veela-related portion of his testimony was read back to him. Eyes brightening, he continued: “Of course, the true Veela are nothing if not “other than.” It is no wonder they took to Severus immediately. The Veela dreamers were said to be able to cross between the various incarnations of the world. To a certain extent, that made sense, since they were no longer incarnate nor of this world themselves.”

“Their divines, the gifted but still mortal Veela who were their communications connections to their living kin, were of the opinion that the world’s incarnations were sequential. But they admitted the possibility that they might also be concurrent, existing on parallel tracks so to speak, like four runaway trains carrying toxic cargos. Even the dreamers could not say for sure. Only that the last incarnation had been a train wreck and that this one was looking likely to be the same. …Something to look forward to, I’m sure.” Lucius rolled his eyes, his disdain for their dreamy pronouncements evident.

“The dreamers, so that you understand, had been living Veela at one time. For the most part, they were those who had gone through the esoteric religious and philosophical training that led one to be accepted as a divine. After a number of years honing their esoteric knowledge and magical ability, and I suspected, their ability to appear confidently knowledgeable on topics for which there simply were no answers, they might be attached to the Well at an Enclave. The Well, more of a bubble actually, was where the dreamers dwelt.”

“Most dreamers, as I mentioned, came out of the ranks of the divines. But any Veela might petition to be admitted to the Well upon death, or as death approached. Veela might equally petition NOT to be placed in the Well, but to be allowed to pass peacefully beyond. Some did. Not all of their petitions were accepted.” 

“Usually petitioners were taken into the Well, if possible, somewhat before death, to be observed and acclimated. The unattached divines would attempt to tether the spirits of the dying into the forces of the Well so that as the body died the Veela spirit would remain.”

“If the effort did not work, the Veela simply died; the body was removed from the Well; and that was that. All the better for that Veela, I figured.” 

“If the attempt worked, the body did not truly die or decay, but simply became inert and floated within the Well. They looked as if they were alive, but sleeping. And I had seen some of them move in their dreaming.” 

“Over time, the casement of the dreamer, as the divines called the body, would gradually transform into pure energy. The spirit of the Veela dreamer would continue to exist and communicate. For the most part, the dreamers communed with each other, and with those that they would meet in the other worlds. It often took them many years, even many decades, for them to learn from the elder dreamers how to transition between the worlds.”

“Some of them never chose to communicate with the divines. Yet many of them would choose an unattached divine from among the hopefuls ever-present at the Well to be their regular contact. And they would communicate to that divine what they had observed and experienced on their journeys between. Many dreamers over time returned more and more infrequently to the Wells. Whether they had chosen to dwell finally in another world or whether something had happened to them in their journeys was usually never known. Unless another dreamer had witnessed it. Sometimes dreamers simply became weary and chose to go on to the Beyond, as all things should.”


	3. Chapter 3

I determined to rescue young Severus from the poor hand fate had dealt him. The Fates hate us all; I’m convinced. 

There exists a contract relationship, not much used these days, but once quite the thing, whereby an older boy or young man can contract as patron to sponsor a younger, less fortunate, young man or boy and to introduce him to better society and opportunities. It was thus that many useful client relationships were born in the old days. Based on the Greek eremenos relationship, the contract could take many forms depending on the intenet of the parties.

In order for the contract to be legal and for me, still a minor myself, to assume responsibility for the abandoned boy, wizarding law decreed that I must have the signatures of the parents. Or at least of the magical one. But Severus’s mother had told him never to return when she had dropped him off at Platform 9 3/4 for the journey to Hogwarts at the beginning of his first year. She had indicated that it was simply too dangerous for him to return home where his magic-hating father might take out his resentments for the injustices of life on the boy’s fragile body.

But I had to try to reach Severus’s home and obtain his mother’s signature. Fortunately, as a Malfoy, I had resources and safeguards against danger at my disposal that Severus and his mother had not. And so on a cold and bitter day just past Yule, I commandeered one of the family’s cars and several of our more intimidating security guards, and set out on the road to find Severus’s home. He had been able to give me the address, though he did not know the way there. But we Malfoys had maps both magical and not, and finding it proved no difficulty.

It seemed such an unlikely place of origin for my talented young ward. Possessed of a scholarly, quiet mien, a beautiful, cultured voice, and a natural distaste for violence and brutality, I could not fathom how he could have come from this decaying, industrial suburb of one of the more provincial of northern England’s immagical cities. 

Severus had told me that his mother had run away to the immagical world after she graduated Hogwarts and that she had married one of the immagical. He also told me that she had been disowned by her old, pureblood family for doing so. Well, that wasn’t unusual in itself. It was a story at least as old as civilization, and one that had become more common in the decades since the Dark Lord had been in power agitating against wizards’ supposed subjection by the more numerous muggles.

What I didn’t understand is how someone from one of the older wizarding families could have ended up here in this pit, and married to a drunken, violent lout such as Severus had described his father. It was not uncommon for the magical to fall into the immagical world. It was uncommon for them to fall this far. It was especially troubling in that his mother had been the last young scion of the last family branch of breeding age in a once large and prominent family. Her defection to the wizarding world must have seemed to her family to be the ultimate betrayal. 

Severus’s home was at the end of a string of sagging rowhouses, some with broken out or boarded up windows. Many seemed abandoned. Furtive adults, teens, and children could be seen here and there in the neighborhood skulking in the shadows. The approach of our car had narrowed eyes peeking out from windows and from around corners. It was clear that without the presence of our armed security men, we would soon have become prey to crime and our car would have been striped of every useful part in a matter of moments.

Severus said it wasn’t safe to approach the house if his father was at home. We watched the house for a while. My men pointed their weapons once or twice at those who seemed too interested. But Severus and I saw no one at the house. More importantly, we didn’t hear anyone. Severus said if his father was home, and not passed out, we would be able to hear him screaming and beating on handy objects or on his mother.

Finally, we approached the door, two of our men in tow, as the others remained at the car. It seemed as if I knocked for a very long time before the door was finally opened a crack. 

The woman who answered was diminutive. Severus must have gotten all his height from his father. His mother had the same dark, sharp-edged look as Severus. Bruises colored her face and arms. Her nose was bent as if from a break or two, and her cheek was swollen from a blow. Her slight form was stooped and nearly emaciated from years of abuse and want. Yet there was something in her eyes and in her bearing that remained proud and did not yield. I admired that.

Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the scene outside her door. Her son in the company of an obviously wealthy older boy and two armed men. Perhaps she recognized me, as almost any magical folk in Britain would, for she pulled open the door a span and let us in. My men remained posted just outside as we spoke. 

I explained why I had come. She listened and quickly gave her assent. It was clearly more than she could ever have hoped for, for her son to be adopted and sponsored by someone from the wealthy Malfoy clan. I produced the legal documents and she signed them without demur and without a word spoken. When finally she spoke her thanks, and wished Severus farewell once again, I was startled by her voice. Low like Severus’s and with rich, cultured tones that made me think of dark chocolate and black velvet, her voice was completely incongruous in her environment. But finally I understood where Severus had learned his dulcet tones. He certainly had none of the uncouth regionalism of this benighted burg in his speech. 

What I could not begin to fathom was how she had ended up here. I knew that women, and men too, sometimes chose their mates unwisely. But for someone from such a privileged background to end up here, with a drunken laborer? I did not understand it. Severus’s mother was from the Prince clan, a wizarding family possibly older and once wealthier than the Malfoys. As the family had aged without producing heirs (and disowning the few it had), its influence had declined. Without heirs, the Ministry and a few designated charities would receive all the accumulated wealth of this once-proud clan. It was so bizarre. Unthinkable to a Malfoy. Surely no one has such bad judgment as that to leave such a family as its sole young scion and run off to the very worst of immagical existences. And Severus of course could not enlighten me on that score, so I did not ask. He would not have even been born when his mother deserted the wizarding world and the wielders of magic for this bleak, immagical dead end. I spent the journey back musing on the vagaries of life. And hoping no such fate awaited me or mine.


	4. Lucius and his Ward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius describes how Severus came to be part of the Malfoy family.  
> ************************************************

“And so I became Severus’ legal guardian. His grade reports at school were sent to me. And I was the one contacted if he got into trouble or needed help. This worked well for him, up until I, and then Narcissa, graduated. After that, there were few reliable Slytherins we could call on to look out for him. By the time I became parent to Draco, I had had enough of Dumbledore’s indulgence of Gryffindor bullies, to the detriment of my house, and so I tended to react rather badly whenever something negative happened to my son. I didn’t want him to suffer as Severus did from neglect and torment.”

“Even at the time of my own graduation, I had to wonder what had happened to me. I took this friendless and abused child under my wing at first because it was the proper thing to do. The traditional Malfoy thing to do. For countless generations, the Malfoy scions had spearheaded philanthropy efforts and sponsored the less fortunate to become well-placed and grateful clients.” 

“Following in that path, I had taken this awkward, abandoned young boy into my house to train him as a client go-between. And already in his first year he showed such promise of extraordinary talent, intelligence, and cunning, far beyond his age. He invented novel spells, seemingly effortlessly. When I asked him how in Merlin’s name he did that, he would reply that he simply applied the principles of magic. As if they were written on the wall for all to see. When he tried to explain them to me, as he saw them, my eyes would eventually glaze over with incomprehension. And I was a much better than average student, with more than the common understanding of such things.”

“Severus also possessed a feral and dark beauty that I found increasingly captivating in spite of my best intentions and own natural inclinations.”

“You in this room naturally must understand what mugles do not, that our wizarding society realizes, as many cultures do not, that its members are generally attracted to individuals based upon their individual merits, and that those attractive ones might be of either gender. So traditionally, wizarding society allowed each person to have both a “right-hand” bond to a member of the opposite sex, and a “left-hand” bond to a member of the same sex. Sadly, now it is rare to find any who has taken advantage of both bonds. The disunity of our modern, muggleized culture leaves most people incapable of salvaging even one bond.”

“I had never experienced any real attraction to other males. Like most boys at the school, I had practiced new techniques and expended excess energies from time to time with other willing boys, but I had never felt the attraction that so many of my peers seemed to feel for me. Perhaps it was the very fact that I could have had practically anyone I wanted that kept me from actually wanting them. In the end, upon my bonding with Narcissa at age 20, I had only had any profound sensual or sexual contact with her and Severus.”

“And yet, in my 7th year, there I was lying in my bed at school, realizing that I had somehow, all unwilling, fallen in love with this boy who could not seem to cease his incessant weeping. What was wrong with me? Had I been hexed, all unawares? Had an envious prankster slipped some love philter into my tea?” Lucius paused in his narrative, looking contemplative, then continued. “Was I just plain pathetic in spite of my name, my beauty, and my heritage?” Lucius looked out upon the courtroom with a quelling glare. “You don’t need to answer that. It was simply a rhetorical question.”

“Severus began to come regularly to my bed for comfort. And I let him. My dorm mates continued to find it amusing. I let them believe, for the sake of my dignity and reputation, that it was a grievous imposition that I suffered for the sake of family honor and noblesse oblige on behalf of my young client-in-the-making. I would have been shamed then if they had known how I secretly welcomed these intrusions by the needy little brother that I never had. Clinging to my shoulder as his tears dried on my bare skin, we both drew solace from these nights of companionship.” Lucius shook his head with sadness. “Now I consider it the greatest honor that he chose me, or let me choose him, and that he trusted me so. Clearly, I do not deserve that honor.”

“And then, despite all those of my year who souht me out for my position as sports team captain, prefect, head boy, and heir apparent to a great family, I would rather spend my time with that strange and rejected little boy who needed me so much.”

“I had tried to help him find companions in his own year. He had one friend, a little Gryffindor girl, whom he knew from before school. They would stick together like glue in classes and achieve extraordinary marks together on some of their class projects. And he got on well with his dorm mates, who were similarly scholars and dreamers as he was, rather than bullies and pranksters like some of the ones who tormented him. In his first year, he and his dorm mates sometimes slept together in a single bed like a huddle of kittens. But his depth, knowledge, power, and ability d to set him apart, and they could not always comfort him when he despaired.” 

Generally, Severus seemed to gravitate towards those far older than himself. He both thought and spoke more like older people. I believed sometimes that even I was a bit young and callow and lacking in learning for him. He was strange, but also strangely attractive for those who had eyes to see and appreciate the unusual. He fascinated me, like a multi-faceted stone that looks different with each slight permutation of the light. And so, we continued to be close, even after my father had pushed me into the Dark Lord’s circle. And we all know how that went.”

The prosecutor stepped forward. “Thank you. Yes; that is what we wish to set out for the record. Tell us how you came to take the Mark.”


	5. Marked Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius discusses his entry into the Dark Circle, and the path he would have rather tread.  
> ***********************************

“All through school, I had been hoping to avoid the Mark. I had hoped that my father’s participation in the Dark Lord’s inner circle was enough, and I would be left alone. After all, it should have been obvious that I was not good material for the increasingly violent and extremist Lord.” 

“Narcissa and I had discussed it of course. She had no more interest in the Death Eaters than I, content to leave her mad sister Bellatrix to fulfill the family role. Narcissa and I had been betrothed since she was 7 and I had just turned 9. Our families were very well acquainted, and we practically grew up together. We both wanted the traditional role of our tier of society, directing charity organizations and hosting charity balls to benefit the less fortunate of our milieu, benefitting society while managing our households and estates to continue to generate the wealth to make it so. Hoping to live as the Malfoys had lived in previous generations, using their wealth and patrician standing in society to sponsor talented artists, scientists, thinkers, and politicians; and yes, even muggles of exceptional talent as well as wizards and witches. Narcissa never had the blind zeal for blood purity of her sister or parents.”

“But my father insisted I join the circle voluntarily and take the Mark. My mother did not want it, but she concurred when he explained to me that the Dark Lord did not take a patrician family for a generation or two. It was forever. He could not lose face by having the scion decline. If I had not been the sole heir, I might have run to a far corner of the Earth and hidden, leaving behind my family, my wealth, my heritage, and my name. But there was no other son, so my choice was the Mark or death.” 

“I did not believe it at first. It wasn’t rational. How could one hope to achieve and hold power by taking followers under duress? But at that point, I had barely met the Dar…." Lucius paused, shook his head slightly, then seemed to collect himself. "...Voldemort. My parents had kept me away from him as much as possible. When I had my first real interview with him, in the summer after I graduated Hogwarts, I knew I was lost. For he had already lost his mind.” 

“I had had excellent marks on my OWLs and NEWTs; I was hoping for a career in finance and law, managing the family’s vast wealth as I went. I had hoped that Narcissa and Severus, with their abilities to create alliances among society and intellectuals, would help me on my way.”

“But I saw my fate, and I despaired. And the Dark Lord saw that I despaired, and he saw why, not the least reason of which was that I saw him as irrational and a poor decision maker. And so he made my induction into the ranks both exquisitely painful and humiliating.” Lucius paused, then appeared to shut down, staring blankly back into the past.  
“Mr. Malfoy,” the prosecutor called. “Mr. Malfoy!” Receiving no reaction, he nodded to defense counsel.

Reinhart Roque stepped up to the witness seat and placed his hand on Lucius’ arm, gently shaking it. Lucius winced slightly, but otherwise did not react. Mr. Roque turned to the Medimage who stepped forward with his diagnostic wand. 

After some brief moments moving his wand over the witness and consulting the readings his wand put forth, the Medimage stepped forward and with a respectful bow to the Chief of the Wizangamot stated, “I suggest that we call a halt to the proceedings today and begin anew tomorrow.” He glanced at Lucius Malfoy. “The combination of the lengthy, emotionally charged testimony, and the necessary dose of Veratiserum appear to have overstressed his system.”

The Chief of the panel rapped his gavel, and everyone else in the courtroom stirred restlessly. It was within an hour of the Court’s daily closure in any event. Narcissa looked with concern at her husband, then turned a worried gaze upon the Medimage, who appeared not to notice. The Court personnel ushered the witness out, back into custody. The panel of wizarding judges exited to the rear. And the court bailiffs ushered the spectators out en masse, leaving a troubled Narcissa Malfoy frowning at the rear exit through which Lucius had departed, before she too was ushered out with Draco, whose concern was turned upon his mother more than his father.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns a bit about Snape's mum from a surprising source.  
> *******************************************

Harry hung back, not really paying attention as Hermione and Ron talked amongst themselves. They were waiting their turn to exit into the aisle as the courtroom spectators gradually shuffled out towards the hallway, the show being over for today. The noise level had risen considerably, from an initial soft murmur or two to a steady wash of sound as everyone discussed Lucius Malfoy’s latest revelations and what they might mean in the grand ongoing saga of wizarding Britain.

Harry found himself wedged into the exit aisle beside Ron and behind two chattering witches of middle years. They were dressed in smart, finely tailored robes that looked remarkably expensive. 

“Well, so that’s how things turned out for Eileen,” the taller one remarked to her companion. “I always wondered. One didn’t hear anything after the news that she and her issue had been struck off the family tree, and then that rather perfunctory announcement about the child.”

Harry’s head jerked up and he looked closely at the pair as he caught the drift of their conversation.

The smaller, heavier witch nodded sagely. “Unfair that. I always wondered if it were really because she ran off and married a muggle. The Prince clan were never ones to go for all that pureblood nonsense, so far as I knew. And dwindling as that family was, one would think they’d be glad for any heir they could get. Ironic that their castoff became Head of Slytherin.”

“Serves ‘em right. And a war hero to boot.” She shook her head sadly, peaked hat tilting precariously on her head. “And gone before the remaining Princes could come to their senses and take him back in. That serves ‘em right too,” she chuckled.

“It always was a mystery though, Aurelia” the taller one said serenely. “Nary a word in school from the girl on the topic of any muggle lover. Far as I knew, she’d never really ventured into the muggle world. Always came back from summer with stories about trips to the other Prince properties, and those prize herds of Pegasus stock. And her mum’s fancy-bred kneazles. Well, everyone’s got their secrets, I guess.”

The one called Aurelia added, “Remember that summer after our 3rd year, when we each spent a couple of weeks at each other’s estates? That was fun. Dress up, and learning about courting, and endless games of Gobstones and Guess the Family.” She tossed her head back with a laugh. “Eileen had a grasp on wizarding history, that one.”

“Aye. Always lost those games, myself. But didn’t care much. I seem to remember a solid string of Ds and Trolls in Wizarding History back in our school days. We probably should have spent more time studying and less gossiping. Not that it matters now. But I still don’t see how we could’ve missed a secret Muggle beau in her life. I always thought we all seemed pretty close as dormmates went.”  
“Ah, well. Secrets.” She winked at her companion. “Just think, Glabria, how much we’ve learned about Lucius Malfoy so far this trial – who would have ever suspected?”

“He’s such a beautiful one. I’d be happy to just sit and stare at him all summer.” She smiled wistfully. “I don’t remember his father being quite so handsome, but he was a few years older than us, and married by the time I even cared about such things, so I probably never really noticed him.”

Harry rolled his eyes behind their backs. The group of courtroom spectators from their aisle had reached the elevators that would take them up and dump them all back into the main Ministry atrium. 

As one of the elevators opened its doors, the two witches sidled in behind a group of what looked like elderly “hedge” wizards. Hermione and Ron started to split off to wait for the next elevator. Ron looked startled when Harry abruptly grabbed his arm and pulled him into the two witches’ crowded elevator. Ron reached out a hand and yanked Hermione in too. She stretched taller and straighter as if she could redistribute her mass to fit more comfortably into the crowd. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could do that, Harry reflected. He had seen her do stranger things. Like turn into a human-sized cat. And fit an entire array of all and sundry goods into a tiny, but ominously bottomless, beaded bag. Including a portrait of an argumentative Slytherin headmaster. Who wasn’t even Snape. He smiled softly to himself as he remembered old Nigel Phineas Black.

His thoughts helped him suffer the cramped ride until the elevator finally spit them all out into the Ministry Atrium.  
Once free of the press of magic, the wizards and witches began to talk amongst themselves again. Ron and Hermione looked curiously at Harry, wondering what odd thing he might want to do next. He bent his head slightly towards the pair of witches, walking obliviously out the main doors, and indicated that his friends should follow him. Ron gave a slight shrug, tucked an arm behind Hermione, and gave in to Harry’s apparent whim. 

The two witches took a seat at one of the fashionable new sidewalk cafes that had opened since the war. During the winter, glass walls and a heating charm kept the patrons comfortable. At the moment, in early July, the café was entirely open air. Harry quietly steered his two friends to an adjacent table. 

Aurelia lifted a menu. “You know, I always wondered if it was all the heavy-handed courting in those last two years at Hogwarts that sent her off. I mean, she wasn’t the most attractive or sociable girl in our class – Merlin knows, she didn’t suffer fools lightly. And to her, practically everyone seemed a fool. But with her wealth and family, and being the only heir apparent, while Lord Voldy and his minions were running their pureblood marriage and breeding program, she was much sought after. With no real affection, just greed of one sort or another. Enough to drive anyone round the bend and out into the muggle unknown.” She tapped her finger on a menu item. “I think I’ll have this.”

“Some of those young men were very pressing, I remember. There were rumors even the Dark Lord himself sought her.” Glabria cackled softly. “Probably before he realized that any son of his would surely give him a run for his money – like old Henry II’s eldest. Thought he was doing himself a favor, the King did, setting up his successor while he could still watch over and guide him. Problem is, you train someone to rule, that’s what they want to do – maybe afore you’re ready for it.”

“Mmnnn.” Aurelia nodded absently at Glabria. “Eileen might have worried that one of those fellows might try the old path to marriage: take the woman by force if needed, and get her with your heir; then proper society has to see you wed to her.” She clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Eleanor herself nearly suffered that fate before giving herself in marriage to Henry II. That didn’t work as well as she hoped, I reckon.”

Glabria giggled.

Harry’s mind was whirling with possibilities. Ron caught his eye, and leaned over to whisper, “What if that was exactly what happened? What if Old Voldy raped her, and she ran for it before he knew he’d got her with child?”

Hermione rolled her eyes heavenward. “Professor Snape - his son?” She frowned with disapproval, the trace of a sneer on her lips. “Not likely.” She snapped her menu back into place and continued reviewing her choices.

Ron wasn’t one to give up lightly. “Well, c’mon, it would explain a lot, wouldn’t it? I mean, where else could you go after that? Maybe she was trying to save the child from his fate. Because that witch is right. It surely would’ve been a fight to the death between Voldy and his son before long. Maybe that’s exactly what it was in fact.”

Harry’s mind flashed back to the memories of young Snape. He remembered his impression: that the boy’s clothes looked almost deliberately mismatched, as if he were meant to hide in them. Could Eileen Snape have been trying to hide a little Prince as a pauper? But Ron’s theory…. Harry knew that Ron had never been much of a fan of Snape. Still, this explanation seemed just a bit too ridiculous. And by Merlin, if it ever became general speculation, no amount of rehabilitation he could do would ever lift the Potions Master’s reputation back up again. He was vaguely surprised Rita Skeeter hadn’t started just such a rumor. But then, she was a Slytherin herself. It was conceivable that maybe she had just a shred of respect for a former Head of Slytherin’s dignity.   
Harry had a sudden inspiration. He stood up and stepped over to the next table. He bowed slightly to the two older witches, evidently Slytherins, and started to introduce himself. “Good evening, I’m Ha….”

“We know who you are, young man; everyone does.” Glabria nodded to him. “Well met. What brings you to our humble table?”

He acknowledged her direct approach, and admitted, “I couldn’t help but hear. You were Eileen Snape’s roommates at Hogwarts? I’ve come to admire her son a great deal, but I know almost nothing about him and his family.” He paused, briefly reflecting that he knew little enough about his own family either. But he would take the opportunities to learn where they presented themselves. He sucked in a breath and started again. “Would you be willing to speak to me sometime and tell me a little bit about Eileen Snape and the Princes?”

The two witches glanced at each other and made tiny, matching shrugs. “Couldn’t do any harm now, I reckon,” Glabria conceded. 

“And it might be fun to take a look at the past through young eyes again,” Aurelia added. She looked over at Glabria and took an inked quill and parchment out of a tiny pocket in her cloak. Ah, another shrinking charm and bottomless reservoir of items, Harry thought. He couldn’t help a quick glance at Hermione, who was regarding the witches thoughtfully. Aurelia wrote down a name and address and passed the quill and paper to Glabria, who also scratched out her name and address. “Owl us, and we will set up a time to have tea and reminisce.” She smiled, eyes sparkling. “Who ever thought we’d all live to see the day when the lot of us could meet for a friendly tea?” She pointed her chin delicately towards the other table. “Bring your friends too, if they’d like to come.” She nodded at Hermione and Ron. “That’s one of the Weasley boys, isn’t he?” She nodded to Glabria. “Now there’s a family never dwindles – never has to worry about an heir.”

Harry was remembering similar, if less kind, comments regarding the Weasleys from Lucius Malfoy. He reached for the proffered slip of parchment and bowed over the back of the lady’s hand, air-kissing it lightly. He then treated the other lady with the same gallantry. They were Slytherins, after all; he figured manners couldn’t hurt. “I very much look forward to it,” he said, and with a last quick bow returned to his table and his two friends.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio continues to speculate wildly about Eileen Snape and how she came to land in such an obscure pocket of the muggle world.  
> ****************************************************************

Ron looked up as Harry rejoined them at their table. “So, they were roommates of Snape’s mum? In the Slytherin dorm?” He spoke quietly so as not to be overheard.

“Reckon so,” Harry responded, looking thoughtful.

“And she ran off into the muggle world? Seems like a bit of a stretch for a pureblood Slytherin.” Ron’s furrowed brow indicated his trouble at reconciling that scenario with his still jaded perceptions of Slytherin House.

Hermione was looking thoughtfully over at the other table, where the two witches were now tucking into the meals that had arrived at their places. “Didn’t you say that when you accompanied Mrs. Malfoy to his house after the war, the whole place had walls covered in books, both magical and muggle?” 

Harry nodded, remembering the precarious stacks of books even on the floor. Some of them were old, heavy, and just reeked of magic. He could feel the magic swirling around him as he helped Narcissa catalogue and ward the collection for safekeeping. Severus Snape had left his private belongings, including the house and its contents, to Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy, in turn, had chosen to place the estate into the 12-year limbo permitted under wizarding law when a person was presumed dead, but no body had been proffered as proof. In some cases, especially in recent decades, some magical folk had faked their own deaths to try to escape danger from one side or the other in the war. At the time, Malfoy had been uncertain what his own fate and that of his family might be after the war. He did not need any of the property from Snape’s estate, but he wanted to protect it from vengeful Ministry bureaucrats and angry vigilantes from either side of the war looking to take out their frustrations. So, the house sat closed and locked to this day, it and its contents protected under several layers of wards both legal and questionable. Harry had added some of those himself.

Hermione interrupted his reverie. “Well, when a person runs away, they generally don’t take entire libraries of old books with them.”

Ron and Harry both looked at her pointedly, remembering the many books, portrait and other unlikely objects Hermione had shrunk down into her bottomless bag and carried with them on their year on the run while Hogwarts lay under Headmaster Snape’s charge. 

Hermione glared back. “That was different and you know it.” 

Harry smirked and Ron just rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I think she must have had help getting away into the Muggle world. Snape even had her old school books and robes, right? Why would a runaway take those?” 

Harry nodded; he thought maybe she was onto something. He had learned that she was usually right in her theories.

“She probably knew nothing about the muggle world or where to go,” Hermione continued. “Maybe, if what those witches said was right about the Prince family, maybe they were afraid for her and wanted to hide her away. Although her life in the muggle world didn’t sound pleasant, it did sound relatively safe and obscure – off in an unremarkable, run-down suburb of York, living with an unremarkable, drunken muggle. Who would ever look for her there?”

Ron had a sudden inspiration. “Maybe Snape’s father was from a family that worked for one of the Prince estates. A lot of the old magical families with land have muggle tenant farmers and artisans and such. What if her family arranged it with his, and the muggles helped smuggle her out into their world? She couldn’t take with her anything that would look out of place in their world, but a lot of old clothes and books, especially if shrunken down for the move, wouldn’t catch any notice.”

“That sounds awfully complicated,” Harry ventured. “And in Snape’s memories, he said his father didn’t much care for magic.”

“But didn’t you say he said ‘he didn’t much care for anything?’” Hermione reminded.

“Yeah.” Harry ran his hand through his already messy hair, trying to puzzle it out. If Eileen Snape’s close friends and roommates didn’t know what happened, how were he and his friends, decades later, going to determine what happened?

Ron jumped back in: “Look, if his family was from one of the estates, especially if they went back generations and were trusted enough to be involved in such a plan, they might not much like magic, since they didn’t have it, but they’d be used to it nonetheless. That was one of the reasons for the Statute of Secrecy. A lot of the trouble between us and the muggles was because muggles resented the magic they didn’t have. Now it’s the other way ‘round. Their technology can do a lot more than ours in some ways. For instance, a transatlantic air flight is so much more comfortable than a portkey. But wizarding folk get nervous when they have to venture into the muggle world and try to blend in. On the old steamer ships, they say it was easier.”

Harry looked at Hermione for her thoughts.

“He’s right,” she conceded in a rare balm to Ron’s ego. “Wizarding history and sociology books point out the long-term close ties between some of the old magical and muggle families, particularly in old rural and some old urban areas. Not nearly as many such ties remain in wizarding Britain as in some places, particularly outside Europe, but there are enough still to worry both Ministries.”


	8. This marks a gap of about 3 years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> during which Lucius Malfoy's trial is concluded,  
> much is learned about the past of Severus Snape,  
> Harry and his friends find unexpected futures,   
> we learn about the summer at Hogwarts that immediately followed the war,  
> we learn what becomes of the refugees and former-Imperiused who found themselves at Hogwarts following the end of the war,  
> Minerva McGonagall and staff make much-needed changes to the way of things at Hogwarts,  
> Kingsley Shacklebolt takes the Ministry in hand,   
> magical species form a council, and so on.  
> But I wanted to skip ahead to teh 5th anniversary of the end of the war. That is the next chapter.

Please see chapter 9 for what comes next (I intend to fill in the gap later - it is already written in my head. Not that that helps you, the reader, right now I realize.)


	9. Someday my Prince will come....

Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt could be seen having a last conversation with the Auror unit commanders and Hogwarts security chiefs. There were a few quick queries and response; then the Minister strode over to where the Hogwarts School’s Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, the Hogwarts staff, and a few Ministry officials were gathered on a terrace overlooking the Hogwarts grounds.

“Well, that’s it then. Everyone is in place. It’s going to be a very large gathering. And again, Minerva, I’m sorry to put you and your staff out like this, but this was the only place in Wizarding Britain where this many witches and wizards could gather without attracting undue attention. And we are going to have a fair number of embassies from abroad. The world’s magical communities are finally communicating with Wizarding Britain again. Too, since this is the site of the final victory over the Dark Lord that we are commemorating, it is singularly appropriate as a venue.” His eyes scanned back and forth over the grounds and the security arrangements like a nervous radar. All the precautions that could be taken had been taken.

“We’re honored, Minister, but let’s not make it a habit,” Minerva responded. “This is still a school, after all.” Her gaze fell on the Hogwarts main gates, where people were already gathered, waiting for the wrought-iron barriers to swing open to admit them. “Any more word on the group from the continent that is said to be seeking Harry Potter’s wand?”

Everyone knew she meant the fabled wand that Harry had indirectly inherited from former Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, and which he had so foolishly blurted out to everyone watching the final battle that he possessed. His words had not even had the intended effect on Dark Lord Voldemort, yet ever since, those who believed in the power of the wand had known from whom they might try to take it. The wand, or “Death Stick,” was believed to give its owner the power to vanquish others in battle. Four attempts had already been made, one by a middling Ministry official who had lived unnoticed by everyone until she tried to get Harry to turn over the wand under a pretext of Ministry need.

Harry had fended off these attempts so far, often with the help of friends or colleagues. He had undertaken a level of specific defense training that few other wizards had ever experienced, and his personal wards bristled with energy. But each time an attempt occurred, failed, and became known, the next aspirant added information and creative techniques to his arsenal. And anytime his whereabouts were publicized in advance, it afforded an opportunity for aspirants to the Death Stick to be on hand to initiate an attack.

Kingsley responded to Minerva: "We think they may try here, as Harry's appearance has been well publicized, and the crowd and the many attending from abroad gives them some measure of cover. Hence, the extra security and undercover presence. We've prepared for everything that we can. And Harry and his group have been briefed. We're watching. Constant vigilance, as Moody used to say."

"He'd be a welcome presence now," Minerva acknowledged. Kingsley nodded.

A low chime sounded, and those on the terrace took their places with other dignitaries on the tiers behind the speaker’s podium. Harry was sitting with his friends: Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville. To the astonishment of many, Draco Malfoy, Millicent Bulstrode, and Blaise Zabini had been included in the group of young people. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were sitting on the end of the row behind. Minerva took a seat marked with her name on the first row. She could feel the vibrant energies of the dome shield and the other wards all around her.

The Hogwarts gates opened to admit the first of the spectators that had been screened. Screening including examining the wand, checking the person’s magical signature, and conducting newly developed tests for glamours, polyjuice, animagus capacity, and other transformational arts. But for every new testing ability they developed, another way around them was invented. There was even a lucrative new branch of Dark Arts with practitioners concentrating specifically on such endeavors. They had euphemistically given themselves the name of “Alterations Specialists” and could sometimes be found in shops bearing the sign: “Tailor.”

A second gate was opened, and additional dignitaries from foreign embassies and from other magical species, all of whom had been screened earlier, began to parade in to the reserved section specially marked out for each group. Among them were a Veela contingent, resplendent in shining beauty and draping, bejeweled raiment of velvet and cloth of platinum, and in contrast, a contingent of Druids from the Keep of Mont Saint Michel, anonymous in their layers of unadorned white robes and monk like cowls and hoods. They each carried their staves of power, ancient symbols from before the time when each witch and wizard might carry a wand. A group of centaurs, arrayed in fine jackets and cloaks, was followed by a quartet of Sphinxes, padding along silently in their train, and an octet of large, impressive Lamassu from the near east, their heavy footfalls leaving deep impressions in the ground.

When all were in their places and quiet, Kingsley and Minerva began the introductory round of speeches and thanks to all assembled for being part of the effort to build more cooperation among magical peoples worldwide and to use magic more widely to make the world overall a better place. Those who did not speak or understand English had translation spells and devices resting in or hovering at their ears.

Narcissa Malfoy, given place as one of the honored war heroes, having saved Harry near the start of the final battle by an uncommonly bold lie to Voldemort himself, spoke on the value of loving care and balanced education for all children, the future of all species, magical and muggle alike. She had helped found the school after the war that cared for and educated the children of the refugees. It was a mixed muggle and magical group, and had become the formal primary school for wizarding Britain, though it taught muggles and muggle subjects also. To extend the educational continuum, discussion was now underway regarding a true magical university. The magical departments at Oxford and Cambridge could simply not match the full magical university facilities that could be found in France, Italy, Germany, and elsewhere. So each year, magical Britain lost many promising students to universities abroad. And those educated overseas usually worked there too, and rarely returned. So the need was clear.

Finally came the segment of the ceremony that everyone had been waiting for. Harry and his friends stepped out of the tiers of seated dignitaries and, ignoring the podium on the dais, stepped into the green oval at the center of the amassed groups. Energy barriers flickered here and there as individuals approached too close to the area or tried to lean on the ropes of light. 

Not being much for speeches, and having achieved some notoriety for his speech at the first commemorative ceremony, Harry was leading his friends in a demonstration of defensive magic. Last year, he and his friends had demonstrated some advanced flying techniques. The two previous years, Harry had been given brief, carefully scripted speeches to say. This on account of his outburst at the first commemoration, which equally lauded heroes and victims of the war, with a strong emphasis on Severus Snape, and condemned without restraint those who still unilaterally distrusted Slytherins and former Death Eaters, again with emphasis on Snape and on Stan Shunpike as well, who had been easily Imperiused and controlled for the doing of nefarious deeds.

The young people took their places around the oval. Harry began by describing the defensive technique he was going to use, then called on Ginny to begin. He elegantly fended off her attack with the technique and demonstrated it again for the benefit of any onlookers who might want to try it for themselves later. Then Draco spoke, describing a new shielding defense that incorporated Mermish techniques. He gestured at Ron, who fired off a spell which was quickly repelled and dissolved into a puddle on the oval. He demonstrated it a second time, this time step by step, for the onlookers. Then Neville stepped up to explain his defense while Harry took the place opposite for attack.

Suddenly, part of the energy barrier not far from Neville flashed and exploded in nebulous bands of shimmering color. While the distracted crowd gaped, trying to determine if that was another new dueling technique, and the Aurors converged on the crowd, a group of 12 black-clad men with flowing beards and small, flat round caps on their heads forced their way through the crowd and the hole in the barrier into the oval. 

Harry and his friends moved quickly into a tight formation. One of the tallest of the black-clad men stepped forward, his layers of robes flowing behind. He was the apparent leader of the 12, despite his deceptively youthful appearance. His beard was all black, while most were all white. He had a prominent nose, yellow-brown eyes, and buck teeth. His English was harsh and heavily accented as he lunged forward, aimed his wand at Harry, and commanded, “Yield up the Elder Wand.” The force of the command and the power of the wizard behind it felled Blaise and Hermione, and hit the first few rows of onlookers like a shock wave, dropping them heavily back into their seats. Several spectators landed in tangled heaps on the ground or in each other’s laps. 

Harry retained his grip on his wand and remained standin after staggering a few small steps back. Sparks crackled along his personal wards. He braced himself and hurled an immobility spell at the arrogant wizard just as his companions started trading fire with the Dark wizard’s cohorts. The mass of spectators remained quiet, uncertain whether this was part of the planned entertainment or not. 

Upon utterance of a strange incantation in a harsh tongue, the energies from the wands of the black-clad men converged into one bright, thick band of writhing energy that they bent towards Harry. As the energy coil turned inexorably upon the young wizard, one of the Druids raised a hand and hurled a ball of silver light straight from his palm, right through the energy barrier behind Harry’s group, and smack into the midsection of the leader of the Dark wizards. That wizard briefly flared into molten energy, a harsh buzzing sound permeated the area, and then the wizard shape puffed apart into black ash that settled on the green. Druids, security personnel, and Harry and his friends quickly immobilized the other 11 Dark wizards. 

The security team bundled the bound and immobilized wizards back through the hole in the energy portal as other staff sealed up the torn barrier. Harry glanced at his friends. It was clear that they were all thinking that the barrier could use some additional work. It was pierced not once, but twice, which did not say much for its overall strength. 

Spectators and dignitaries alike were still gaping at the chaos that the ceremony had become. Suddenly the Druid pointed at Harry and incanted, “Expelliarmus.” The much sought after Elder Wand floated gracefully up and over the crowd into the waiting hand of the Druid. Harry’s friends looked up in alarm and drew their wands. They were hesitant, however, to attack the man who had just saved Harry Potter, even if he had stolen the Death Stick.

The crowd parted for Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt as he headed towards the druidic group. The hood and cowl of the Druid who had fired on the Dark wizard had fallen back in the fray, revealing a powerful looking man of average height and noble mien with dark eyes, flowing black hair, a strong nose, and sharp cheekbones.  
Harry felt a shock of recognition. Then his face split into an enormous grin. 

Kingsley held out his hand. The Druid grasped his wrist as the Minister did the same, clapping his other hand down on the Druid’s shoulder. “Well met, Severus. You just can’t help yourself, can you?” His lips quirked up. “That ‘saving Harry’ thing.”

The Druid rolled his eyes. 

“Do reassure me that you don’t intend to use that wand to make yourself the next Dark Lord,” Kingsley warned with an intent gaze into the Druid’s eyes.

“Please,” the Druid sneered, allowing the most superficial touch of Kingsley's Legilimency. “Nothing could be further from my desire. I have never understood why anyone would go out of their way to make themselves the ruler of masses of dunderheads.” He rolled his eyes again, apparently a nearly continuous habit. “Dumbledore wanted the Wand to pass to me precisely because I would never want to use it to conquer, and because I had the power and skill to defend it. Potter, for all his training, is still very young and inexperienced. It was reckless of him to make himself a target for all and sundry by blurting out his mastery over the Wand.” He shook his head with exasperation and muttered, “Foolish Gryffindors.”

“But now you’re a target,” Kingsley pointed out. “You could hardly have found a more public venue at which to claim the Wand.”  
“I can defend it if need be,” Severus assured him. “And if someone wants to challenge me, well; I still have a certain amount of old resentments to work out.”

Kingsley’s lips twitched upward. He nodded in agreement, and added, “Perhaps now our young saviour can live a normal life.”   
Severus brows rose in surprise. “He will never know normal any more than I.”

“You’re probably right,” Kingsley acknowledged. “In any event, another of our grand ceremonies has come to an unceremonious end. I suppose now I need to start dispersing everyone to the after feast. You will be staying, won’t you?” he asked, raising a brow in query and dipping his head towards the other Druids standing at Severus’ shoulder. “Minerva and the staff would love to see you, not to mention the ubiquitous Malfoys, and Harry himself.”

“I am here. I suppose I must face the past, as well as the future,” the man said with a heavy sigh.

“Just so. And you may find, things are not quite as you remember them.” Kingsley gave him another hearty clap on the shoulder and turned to take charge of salvaging the commemoration. As he walked away, Kingsley said over his shoulder, “And I do want to hear the story of how you survived Nagini, and furthermore, rose to the rank of Druid in 5 short years.” He shook his head in bemusement. “I always thought it took about 20.” Kingsley continued on through the outer rings of the spectators to find Minerva setting the house elves to laying out the first courses of the feast, while wine and various beverages were already flowing freely.


	10. Chapter 10

Minerva looked up as Kingsley approached. “You aren’t bringing the Druid in for questioning? He took Harry’s wand, just as the Dark wizard intended to. What makes you so sure he won’t use it the same way that one intended?”

There was a twinkle in his eye as Kingsley answered. “I’m as sure as I can be. It was prearranged that the Druid should take the wand if he could.” He didn’t add that the prearrangement was with Dumbledore. Sometimes, just as Severus had known during his days as a spy, truth was best left unembellished. “It should be as safe in his Druidic hands as it was in Dumbledore’s.” He frowned; reflected a bit. “Safer, actually.”

Minerva looked only partly mollified. Men could be so trusting. She was going to need to speak to this Druid herself. She looked in his direction. He was still standing far across the grounds with his two companions, just where he had been when he uttered ‘Expelliarmus.’ She was also going to have to have a talk with Harry. All of his intensive Auror and Defense training had apparently gone for naught.

Severus, in his turn, was gazing over the grounds and the milling hundreds it contained, determining in which order he would approach those with whom he must reacquaint himself. Minerva was already looking in his direction. He should probably start with her. Some small part of him looked for a way to put that meeting off; his last memory of her involved her trying mightily to kill him.

He looked off to the fringe of the feast gathering. Harry and his friends were grouped together, though apart from the crowd, engaged in intense conversation. One or more of them would frequently glance his way. Astoria Greengrass had joined the group, and appeared to be comforting Draco, who looked overwrought. Granger and the Weasel were also huddled close, exchanging words in a way that reminded him of the last year he had taught the pair. Curiously, Harry and Ginny were not close. Ginny stood with Longbottom and Lovegood engaged in deep discussion. Harry turned towards Severus with a deep, remote stare. 

Severus turned quickly away from Harry’s weighty stare and spotted Lucius and Narcissa. The pair were greeting guests and guiding them into the feast, clearly unaware of Severus’ presence, though Lucius from time to time glanced uneasily around the crowd as if he was aware of something, but he was not sure what it was. Severus decided he could safely leave them until later.

He turned towards his two companions, aspiring Druids under his tutelage, and indicated that they should accompany him. When he neared the feast tables where Minerva was busy directing house elves and guests, he set them off to enjoy the feast with a few words about required greetings to old friends. They acquiesced, the younger male looking after him a bit wistfully.

Severus approached Minerva at an oblique angle, appalled at the tiny bit of trepidation that slowed his steps. Minerva turned, incipient glare and acerbic words for the presumptuous, wand-stealing Druid suddenly dying on her lips. She froze; her face drained of color. “Severus?” The barest whisper escaped on her breath.

Severus inclined his head in a slow, stately nod as he waited to see if a drawn wand would be her next reaction. He carefully kept his hands slack at his sides, not that he needed a wand anyway. He had not had one since the incident with Nagini, and he had rarely missed it. 

Suddenly, he noticed tears brimming in her eyes, and drew back half a step. This was much worse than if she had drawn her wand. Dueling and hostility he could handle.

Minerva reached out towards him and clasped his arms. “I am so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize.” An image flitted across the surface of her mind of him flying out of Hogwarts away from the drawn wands of his fellow professors. 

An apology. Could it get any more awkward? he wondered. Well of course it could. Why did he even wonder? Minerva clasped him in a spontaneous hug and planted tearful pecks on both cheeks. “I’m so glad that Albus spake true about you. …I just wish he had trusted me with the truth,” she said ruefully.

“He did not trust anyone with all the truth,” Severus acknowledged. “Just in case. I still haven’t decided if that was wise of him, or foolish.” He paused; looked down. “But I find,” he said more quietly, “that now, I am inclined to speak true or not at all. Too much subterfuge creates its own dilemmas.” He looked back up into her dark eyes, on a level with his own, and saw understanding.

Severus felt a heavy gaze upon him, and pivoted to look. Again it was The Boy Who Simply Would Not Die. No, The Man, he corrected himself, noting the angular lines of the cheek and jaw, and a dark stubble on the pale skin beneath the ever unruly hair. The slight prettiness he had had as a child was gone, replaced by an air of confidence and determination, and a compact musculature that hinted of strength and speed, as well as endurance. Yet Harry looked the same height as Severus remembered from before, when he was still a child in school. The difficulties of his youth had taken their visible toll after all.

“Go speak to him,” Minerva urged. “I can’t tell you how much what all you did means to him. He honors you; has done all these years.”  
Severus hesitated. He wasn’t sure he could deal with a Chosen One, a Golden Gryffindor, who idolized him. Hostility was easier. He missed it. Oh well; he could create it again if he needed to, he supposed.


	11. Chapter 11

Assuming a resting pose against a large pedestal with an urn, Severus paused in his oblique trajectory towards The Chosen One to peruse the Hogwarts grounds, absorbing both the changes and the sameness at once.

A single wisp of cloud wafted overhead in an otherwise clear blue sky. A soft, warm breeze teased across his lips as they quirked into a Mona Lisa smile. Squirrels chased each other up and down tree trunks, enjoying their liberation from winter’s torpor.

Severus turned his regard into the middle distance. Dumbledore’s tomb, risen from the water, stood on its island above the lake, gleaming brightly in the spring sunlight. It almost seemed to twinkle, like the eyes once had of the old man the sarcophagus housed. Severus wondered if the sepulcher rose out of the lake every year on the anniversary of the final battle. It should, he mused, the old meddler had died to help bring that victory to fruition.

What a waste, Severus thought, not for the first time. Dumbledore could be alive today, still mucking about in the affairs of all and sundry, but for his foolish obsession with The Hallows and their false promise of immortality. Why anyone would want to live forever – to endure life’s painful and lonely journey for longer than the allotted span – was beyond his ken. It was no mischance, he considered, that Dumbledore and Voldemort had disliked and distrusted each other from their very first meeting: they both sought after essentially the same goals, power and immortality, though they approached those ends from opposing paths and for differing reasons. Flip sides of the same coin, he thought. For those two, just as for Harry and Voldemort, one could not survive while the other lived.

The tragedy and shame of it was that their personal struggle had bound up the witches and wizards of the realm into their enmity for decades, condemning untutored and inexperienced youths to fight their battles and decide the war. Despite Rita Skeeter’s more titillating aspersions, that was Dumbledore’s real crime.

Troubled by the tack his memories were taking, Severus turned away from the vista to look back at the castle, so long his home and his sanctuary. New greenhouses and barns stood among the old, many of which had clearly been rebuilt or repaired after war’s end. There were now several groundskeepers’ cottages rather than one. The festival area, flanked by an English-style rose garden and a more formal French garden area, among which feast tables teemed with celebrants, was a new addition too. Lively music poured forth from the entertainment dais, as scents of spring blossoms chased along the air currents. The scene could not be more idyllic.

Severus' mind, however, kept flashing back to the last time he had stood in these grounds, when gathering storm clouds had heralded the Dark Lord’s entry, and the sharp, tannic tang of his Dark power had permeated the very winds that bent the grasses and trees before His will. Smells of evil and decay, and blood and bloodlust both had coiled in the winds that day. The Hogwarts clarions had sounded their alarms as the attacks of the Dark Lord and his followers had boomed against the castle wards. The wards had held until he was forced to fly from Hogwarts' illusory sanctuary to avoid fighting and possibly disabling his colleagues at the school. So much of the school's safety infrastructure was tied into the magic and will of the Headmaster.

Severus shut his eyes against the onslaught of persistent memory. He brought his druidic training to bear to discipline his thoughts. After a count of moments, Severus opened his eyes again upon the world to see swallows soaring along in the afternoon sky, spiraling in their intricate mating dances. Everything was well with the world it seemed.

Abruptly, the instant when his hurled incantation had disintegrated a very Dark wizard not an hour before intruded upon his reverie. Severus shook himself almost imperceptibly, like a cat shaking off a dew, to rid himself of the image, and resumed his walk towards his objective.

When Severus had agreed to return to Hogwarts as the leader of the Druidic delegation to the Council of Magical Beings, which he began by attending this event, he had known he would have to confront the past. He just hadn’t expected to do it all on the first day. C’est la vie. 

A no doubt contentious conversation with his former shadow protégé awaited him. Well, at least it might have some entertainment value, he mused.   
Harry came striding up to meet him. Severus glared at the smaller man.

“Still trusting to your luck, I see. What do you mean by offering not the slightest defense when a wizard tries to take your wand? Were your years of Auror training and apprenticeship wasted on you? It’s a wonder you still live,” he said with some asperity.

Harry just smiled, pleased that wherever he had been, Snape had cared enough to be aware of what he was doing after the war. “I knew it was you the moment you lifted your hand and released your magic.”

“How so? I heard you thought I was dead.” 

“I just knew. And yes, I felt you die in that shack. But I’m glad to find myself mistaken.” 

Harry’s face was still and serious, showing a maturity Severus had not expected. Harry then offered him a firm handshake, a sincere “thank you for everything you did – I didn’t even know until you were gone,” and an ineloquent but heartfelt apology “for being such a prat all those years ago.”

Severus froze. Could this be some polyjuiced body-double of Harry? It would be just like The Famous Harry Potter to pay someone else to perform the onerous duty of glad-handing and making small talk after The Show of the commemoration. Yet the troubled depths of those vivid green eyes and the strong, familiar, almost wild, magic resonating around him betrayed the truth of their owner. It was him; Severus could not be mistaken. 

Severus took a long time to respond, and when he did, it was in the low, silky, slightly sinister timbre that Harry well remembered: “Do not thank me; you will never owe me thanks. And… you couldn’t have known; you shouldn’t have known in fact. You were a child; …a reckless one at that. If you had known, he would have known. And the game would have been up …before it fairly began.” 

Then, because the serious, respectful tone the conversation was taking disturbed his equilibrium, Severus added, “I was so looking forward to an exchange of insults, immature commentary, and reckless, but futile threats to alleviate the tedium and tumult of this momentous day. …You have disappointed me.” A stern frown and withering glare were belied by the very slightest upward quirk of Severus’ lips.

Harry responded in kind, relieved to be back on familiar ground. “Ah, I’m glad to see that you still haven’t learned the meaning of ‘nice.’ Nice people bore me. And never let it be said that I would disappoint my long-absent guardian now.” 

Harry deliberately steered Severus away from the group of Harry’s onlooking friends and from the crowds surrounding the feast tables. Harry tilted his head towards his shadow mentor to ask quietly, “So were you one of the undercover operatives that Kingsley was mentioning earlier?”

“If you knew me better, you would know that I operate best undercover,” Severus riposted with an arched eyebrow.

“I’ll be sure to ask Lucius Malfoy about that,” Harry deadpanned with a smirk.

“What? You haven’t already?” Severus asked in mock astonishment, a hand placed dramatically over his heart. Then, in his normal laconic demeanor, he intoned, “You were certainly never one to restrain yourself from prying into others’ affairs. What prevented you? Too many people to conquer and places to see and be seen?”

Harry rolled his eyes in unconscious imitation of Severus. There was a part of Harry that could not believe he was having a relatively civil conversation with Snape, even after all these years, and a small part of him double-checked to reassure himself that he was indeed in the real world, and that Snape was in fact alive.

“In any event, I believe we are both best served by leaving the past where it is,” Severus added.

“I will try to respect that,” Harry agreed. “But no guarantees.”

“You were never very successful at respect in the past,” Severus sneered.

“I have acquired a lot of new abilities in the past few years. I live to learn, o wise druid,” Harry quipped.

The pair continued to skirt the rest of the gathering, just as the rest of the gathering continued to avoid them, but with side glances their way now and then. No one wanted to intervene in a meeting of two powerful wizards, one of which had just taken the other's wand. If the onlookers recognized the Druid and were wondering at the reappearance of the former headmaster who had been so famously dead these past years, they were waiting to indulge their curiosity. 

The pair of wizards each reflected silently that this first post-war meeting was far more pleasant than either of them would have surmised. Harry broke the silence, asking quietly, “Is your patronus still a doe?”

Severus’ eyes widened slightly in surprise; he wondered briefly at the purpose of the question before deciding to answer it. Severus continued looking straight ahead as he nodded fractionally in assent. Harry answered that with his own brief nod of satisfaction and walked on, side by side with Severus.

The pair turned around one of the castle’s outlying turrets, and Harry broke the silence once again, rubbing his hand through his messy hair as he recalled, “Ron and I used to call you ‘The Prince’ you know, back in our 6th year, before we knew he was you. ‘Mione didn’t like it. Neither did Gin. They said our obsession with the Prince and his notes reminded them of when Ginny was in thrall to Tom Riddle’s diary. But Ron & I knew the Prince was all right, and that he was helping us. Just like we knew the doe in the Forest of Dean was all right when we saw her, and that she was helping us too. We could just feel it somehow.” He hesitated. “I could,” he added sincerely without looking aside at Severus.

“Like you could feel me die…,” Severus added snidely. Severus looked pointedly at Harry, then said, “Thank you for that, by the way. Publishing the news of my certain death made my afterlife that much easier.”

“Where did you go?” Harry asked earnestly.

“Mont St Michel, eventually,” Severus responded.

“How did you survive? I did feel you die,” Harry insisted stubbornly.

The young man was regarding him intently, green eyes locked on the black ones, waiting for an answer. Severus thought that Harry had something of the predator in his mien, like his father and his dogfather before him. “That is a story for another time,” Severus said with finality as they completed their circuit of the castle, once again approaching the feast tables.

“Very well,” Harry acquiesced. “But I will hold you to that ‘another time,’” he added, jaw set firmly with determination.

“I would expect no less,” Severus said with a smirk. “But now I must make myself known to the Malfoys; they will never forgive me if I should slight them here.”

Harry had come to know the Malfoys fairly well over the last few years, and knew that Severus did not exaggerate. They might never mention a slight, but they would nurse resentment of it. He took a chance, and reached out and clasped both of Severus arms’ in a warrior’s embrace. “See you again?”  
Severus returned the embrace, nodded, and took his leave, marking the remaining distance to the gathering in the same long, fluid, confident stride that Harry remembered.


	12. Chapter 12

Severus approached the gathering on an oblique trajectory towards where the Malfoys sat at one of the higher tables, surrounded by an odd assortment of patricians, politicians, plebeians, and what appeared to be muggles, several in tartan kilts.

Lucius and Draco both appeared to sense his approach, raising their eyes to meet him. Then, rising from table, Lucius gently offering his hand to Narcissa, and walked at a stately pace towards a secluded alcove on the grounds where they could meet away from prying eyes. Draco followed, accompanied by Astoria Greengrass. Severus wondered what excuse they had given to the others at their table for their early departure. The Daily Prophet’s society column had mentioned Draco’s close association with Astoria, speculating on eventual marriage, as they always did. 

Severus perused the group as he approached, comparing their current aspect to that of memory. Lucius was as beautiful and masculine as ever, with the commanding presence of a patriarch of an important family. Yet his eyes and expression were more guarded than before, and he had a more grounded, subdued air than Severus recalled. 

Narcissa too retained all her beauty, but the impenetrable cold of her earlier mien, a natural camouflage she had adopted for the Dark Lord’s circle, was replaced by an electric energy and radiant power. There was something of the warrior queen in her stance. Severus approved. For all of Narcissa’s past efforts to maintain the image of the perfect society wife and mother, living only to sustain her family, Narcissa had always been more powerful, more widely knowledgeable, and more magically versatile than her sister, Bellatrix.

Draco was taller than Severus recalled, as Harry had not been, perhaps a result of the deprivation of Harry’s childhood and intense demands of the war on his magical energies as a schoolboy. Draco was no less emotional than Severus remembered from before. The young man’s face betrayed an uncertain struggle between tears and anger. Astoria held his hands in a comforting way, evidently trying to ameliorate his emotional reactions.

Lucius approached first, with an uncharacteristic hesitation. He was clearly evaluating his friend, perhaps trying to determine how much Severus held against him for being the one to lead him to his final confrontation with the Dark Lord. Severus looked into those so-familiar eyes – a grey-blue so light that they almost appeared clear. He felt the warmth of old feeling flood his heart, which he had thought nearly dead, cold and immune to such things. He offered his hand to his old companion. Lucius reciprocated, the spontaneously drew him into a tight hug. Severus felt a single, muffled sob, Lucius’ only betrayal of the emotion of the moment.

As they held each other, Severus found himself unexpectedly glad of the reunion and the renewal of old ties. They pulled back slowly out of the embrace to regard each other anew. Lucius’ eyes glistened, but he would not shed tears. Severus did not occlude, and his deep black eyes appeared warm and soft, fringed by long, thick lashes like deep velvet pile, just as Lucius remembered.

Lucius rested the palm of one hand against Severus’ cheek, extending a finger to stroke the lashes of the eye above in a familiar gesture. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Lucius murmured. “Why did you let us believe that you had died? We mourned for you….” He paused. “We would have kept your secret, if you wanted it that way. …We kept your other secrets….” Apparently not expecting an answer, Lucius released Severus to let Narcissa embrace him. Severus’ mouth quirked upward. The Malfoy patriarch had not changed so much; he was glad.

Narcissa stood on tiptoe, planting a delicate kiss on each cheek in the French manner. A single tear fell from each eye. Severus had always marveled at her ability to school her emotional reactions for precise dramatic effect. In fact, he had secretly admired and emulated her ability.

When Narcissa stepped away, Draco took his turn. Although in many ways he took after his mother far more than his father, he had never learned her emotional control. Not even Severus’ efforts to teach it had helped. For a moment, Severus saw the boy again in the young man as Draco launched himself into his arms in a fierce embrace, unashamed sobs racking his body. Amid the sobs, the anger tried to assert itself. 

“How could you leave us? And leave me to face that eighth year without friends, without anyone? You knew what it was like. It was horrible. Why didn’t you come back? We needed you.” Draco passed his hand across his face and blinked away some of the tears, trying to straighten his posture and regain some of his dignity. “We all did,” he said with a sweep of his arm, seeming to indicate the entire gathered assembly on the Hogwarts grounds.

Without answering, Severus planted a single kiss on Draco’s brow, and released him to Astoria; and Draco clung to her like a lifeboat. Astoria nodded to her old professor with a soft smile.

Severus addressed Lucius and Narcissa, who were watching him intently, clearly waiting for some explanation. “Once I was away, I became aware that I wanted a new life, one without the strife and expectations of my old one. And I knew that I could not have that life if I came back here… too soon. I would have been ensnared in the old patterns whether I willed it or not.” He swallowed and considered how much he should say. 

“…I was not at all certain of how I would be received… by either side… after the war’s end. So, I took myself away to recover and rebuild my strength. It seemed best to remain safely dead to all.”

Lucius made an effort not to roll his eyes. Now was not the time. But Severus was still a drama queen, an unfortunate trait that Draco had followed him in. Lucius regarded his son standing beside his old ward, and considered not for the first time how, but for his looks, Draco took after Severus far more than after his parents. This unfortunate circumstance had made Draco’s years at Hogwarts far more difficult than they should have been. Lucius had thought to provide him with the protection that Severus had lacked during most of his school years in the form of young Crabbe and Goyle, but hindsight showed him that this effort had only made it that much worse for Draco.


End file.
